


i don't need the city, and i don't need proof

by A_Nightingale



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I DONT MAKE THE RULES, M/M, MAG 159 spoilers, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), basic? yes but also v good, fluff?, i mean kinda they just started, i only enforce ;), jon is good at hair dyeing, song insp: strawberry blond, the lonely hurts the boy :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Nightingale/pseuds/A_Nightingale
Summary: Jon and Martin take a train to safety.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 9
Kudos: 122





	i don't need the city, and i don't need proof

**Author's Note:**

> tw for description of the lonely, martin having something akin to a panic attack, disassociation (tell me if i need to add more)

Martin huffs out a breath as they step into the cabin of another train. The crowd around them flows and moves past them, lagging just slightly behind as they are. Still, since the train waits at each station for at least five minutes before departing, they're probably fine. Jon is clutching Martin's hand, callused and warm, and Martin might be writing the opening lines of a poem in his head.

They shuffle through the narrow hallway, careful not to trip on luggage, bags and feet. Martin runs his fingers across the edges of Jon's, soft smile pushing its way onto his face when Jon gives his hand a light squeeze. His heart skips a beat.

They find an empty booth eventually, and Jon sighs as they drop their meager luggage down and settle into opposite seats. Martin pulls out a bag of cookies and sets it on the table between them. "Want some?"

"I...yes." Jon reaches forward and carefully opens the paper bag, wary of crumbs as he pulls a chocolate cookie out from within. The train starts with a jostle, and he absentmindedly nibbles at it as he looks outside, watching as the station beyond the window devolves into a kaleidoscope of grey, brown and blue.

Martin takes one too, letting the crumbly biscuit and sweet chocolate melt on his tongue. They stopped at a Famous Amos because Martin had caught the quiet longing look in Jon's eyes as they walked past it, and when had Martin ever been known for saying no to Jon when it came to things like this? They got a bag of chocolate chip, and Martin still hadn't gotten over the soft swoop of butterflies in his stomach as Jon gave him a rare, tender smile.

Maybe he should add that to his poem.

Martin pulls out his well-worn notebook, flipping through the dog-eared pages until he finds an empty page. He pulls out a pen, followed by a thermos, popping the lid open to gulp down a mouthful of warm tea. He notices Jon's eyes on him. The cookie is half gone, and he's got a sort of thoughtful, almost dreamy look on his face.

"You can have a sip if you want," Martin offers, tilting the thermos forward. Jon startles, and hurriedly nabs the offered drink. He takes a quick gulp but stops, eyes widening as he stares down at the cup.

"Is..is there something wrong? I, I mean, I know you like Earl Grey, but I, um, mean, if it's bad, then I can, well, make you something else!" Martin can feel himself floundering.

Jon's eyes shift from the thermos to Martin. "Oh! No, there's nothing, um, wrong with it, it's just… I didn't expect it to be so good."

"...W-wait, really?" Jon nods again, taking a swig. "Whoa! Careful! I mean, it's Oolong, and I thought you like the caffeinated kinds…"

"Heh… I mean, I didn't know that either."

"We're discovering more Jon-trivia together," Martin laughs, and he feels the almost awkward tension change into something more comfortable. 

He passes a glance to the window, at the grassy plains and bright blue skies that are just starting to emerge from tall skyscrapers and concrete jungles.

Martin huffs out a laugh. "I mean, it's funny. I've always wanted to go on a holiday somewhere beautiful and quiet."

"Well, with any luck, that will be what this is." Jon follows his gaze, out to the breathtaking view.

He receives the thermos back when Jon passes it to him lighter than before, and places it on the table between them, next to the cookies, in case Jon wants more. 

They settle into companionable silence. The events of the day rush through his mind at the speed of the train they're in, and he closes his eyes. Th...the Lonely, Jon, Daisy's instructions, their rush to the first train that could take them away, one of their first real talks while they were still cooling off from the exhilaration, and now this- the last leg of the journey before they finally reach their destination.

Martin feels overloaded with so many _thoughts _.__

____

____

Maybe he should write them down.

He turns to the page again, sneaking a quick glance at Jon to make sure he wasn't looking. Jon seems to be reading the book he bought at a random bookstore when he realised that he hadn't brought anything to occupy himself with- _Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman _by Haruki Murakami.__

____

____

He turns back to his paper and tries to pour his racing thoughts onto the page- trains, ink, fabric seats, cookies, soft laughs, tea, notebooks, butterflies, meaningful gazes, the corner of a lip, a fingernail tracing his palm, and Jon, Jon, _Jon _.__

____

____

Damn. Martin looks up again, and the poem is a mess of words, feelings and half-baked thoughts.

He's unsure of whether it's actually a good poem or just verse after verse of purple prose, but he likes it.

Martin sighs and clicks his pen. Should he write another one? He takes a look at the room around him, searching for something that could spark some kind of inspiration.

He looks at the view outside, trying to spot something that could help him. His vision unfocuses, and suddenly he catches sight of himself in the smudged window.

He looks at his face and wonders what all these people around him saw when they brushed past- the harrowed eyes, the soft, round face that give him back a few years, the white-streaked hair-

The white-streaked hair?

Martin realises that there are streaks of white woven starkly through his wavy blond hair like lightning to the ground. But when had he gotten them? He wasn't the type to prematurely grey like Jon, and it's not like these were there before-

Before-

Memory comes crashing down on Martin all at once. The Lonely. The cold, grey nothing, the painful, staticy emptiness in his chest that made him feel like an empty shell cut clean apart. Ever-pushing, freezing waves that lapped mutely at his feet, that could take him whole if it wanted to, the crushing, pressing quiet threatening to choke him and take him far, far away. Mist, damp and cool on his skin, swiftly and silently wrapping and flowing around his legs like a living being pulling at his very soul to drag him further and further into the white, cold, lonely fog-

"-tin? Martin! Can you hear me?"

Martin is pulled out, all at once, the static nothing still ringing in his ears. His pen has fallen from his hand. He sees the last wisps of fog dissipate from around his ankles, creeping away like an animal chased off. Jon is standing over him, hands bracketing his face and worry painting him with wide eyes full of carnal terror and rapid, frantic speech. His eyes finally truly meet his. "M...Martin?"

He feels a slight gust of wind at his feet. The doors are open, and Martin realises that the train is at a station. The surrounding cabin is devoid of passengers, not that there were many to begin with, most of whom have probably alighted.

(Or left because of him, his brain helpfully reminds him, and now he just feels more terrible.)

"I…I'm… are you okay?" Martin tries for a smile, but all he can manage is a quivering facsimile. He tries and fails to clear his head of the residual memory. Now it's fuller than before. 

"W...what? Martin, you were _gone _, and you're asking me if _I'm alright?"___

_____ _

_____ _

"I...what happened?"

"You...you…" Jon blinks, trying to clear his throat. "You… _went away _. One moment you were fine, and the next you were drowning in fog. You were faded, you couldn't look me in the eye, you wouldn't respond when I called you…"__

____

____

Martin's heart sinks in his chest. He scared Jon, and he can see it in Jon's eyes. A sort of ever-present anxiety, given full rein when he fell back into… that place.

"I just… I'm really sorry, Jon. I just saw myself and…" the creeping wrongness nestled in his head reminds him- he is carrying a mark of the Lonely wherever he goes. "Look, can we...get off, please?"

Jon nods without hesitation. His gaze is less full of fear now, though Martin knows he's about to be watched a little closer than usual out of paranoia. "Al...alright."

They gather up their possessions. When Martin tries to get up and stumbles, Jon is there to support him, and Martin couldn't be more grateful. They leave the train and take the escalator back up to the street level. He catches a glance of himself and his hair in a decorative mirror, and he feels the unsettling feeling of wrongness pounding in his head again.

They've stopped off in the middle of their journey, but Jon reasons that they might as well take a rest from travelling here. They take a break at a nearby convenience store, and while Jon is buying some food for a late lunch at a store nearby and Martin is picking up basic provisions, Martin sees it. 

A small aisle, just fitting for a convenience store of that size, partially tucked away from the more populated areas. To Martin, it couldn't stand out more.

"Martin, I've got the food, we can...ah." Jon is back from the store with takeaway containers in a bag looped around his wrist, and he's seen where Martin has stopped in his tracks.

Jon pauses, then quietly moves to his side, softly reaching up to hold his shoulders. "Do you want to pick a colour?"

Martin thinks it over for a while, then nods. "Yes. I do." He probably could have skipped the act- the moment he saw the aisle, he had decided.

He walks slowly through the narrow walkway, trying to catch every shade of colour labelled on the price tags. He doesn't want to go too far from his actual hair colour, but he does want something different.

He picks a box at random from the shelf. _Strawberry Blond _.__

____

____

He likes it.

The box is placed on the checkout desk, next to two bottles of water, a pair of toothbrushes and toothpaste, some soap, a few packs of gum and a small towel. They ask the cashier if there's a bathroom, and she lazily points them to a door. It leads to a dingy single-person stall that smells faintly of cigarettes and piss. Still, it's enough.

Martin mixes the dye in the small dish that came in the box with apprehension and a strangely heady dose of excitement. He drapes the towel over his shoulders and leans over the sink, but can't quite figure out where to start.

"Jon, can you do it? I don't want to mess it up," Martin says, offering the brush to Jon. Jon blinks in faint surprise. "Are… you sure?" 

"Yes, absolutely. Not like I can see the back of my head anyway."

Jon almost hesitates, but he ties up his hair, pulls on the gloves from the box and takes the brush from Martin. He dips it into the mix, combing it through Martin's hair and coating everything in the reddish dye. The strong stench of chemicals start to fill the air. Something about the way Jon moves the brush, with steady hands, extra care around his forehead and a valiant effort to try not to splatter tells of past experience and many hair dye-related mistakes.

Jon runs his fingers through Martin's hair a little to coat the parts he couldn't get with the brush, and he's done. Martin holds his head over the sink precariously while the dye sets. Jon washes out the gloves lightly and leaves them on the sink for later.

"Have you done this before?" Martin asks, tilting his head up to look at Jon. "You seem pretty good at this."

Jon visibly freezes up, before heaving a sigh. "Mm...yes. Used to do Georgie's while I was in uni. Did my own too." 

"Whoa, what?" Martin chuckles at the mental image. "Jonathan Sims, dying his hair. How HR shall complain."

"I was young, rebellious and in university with _Georgie _\- could you really have expected me to not fall into that subculture?"__

____

____

"Fair point." Martin thinks for a moment. "What colour did you do?"

"...Purple. Streaks."

"Oh my _g-d _."__

____

____

"Mmhm."

"Do you have pictures?"

"I refuse to share."

"Or I could just ask Georgie…"

Jon's face turns a dark maroon. "No- I- just- just- _fine _, I'll show you later, but you can't tell _anyone _."____

_____ _

_____ _

"Fine. Loose lips sink ships and all that."

They wait for fifteen more minutes before Jon slips the gloves back on. He tousles and combs through Martin's hair while the tap spits out an unsteady stream of water. As soon as he's sure the dye is out, he grabs the towel from Martin's shoulders and dries the residual water.

Martin shakes his now-wet hair and splatters water everywhere, much to Jon's chagrin. He looks into the mirror.

Oh.

_Oh _.__

____

____

There he is.

In the grimy, rusted bathroom mirror, he sees himself- really himself. 

He turns his head this way and that, speechless. His hair is a red-tinted blond, soft and slightly reflective. Jon did a good job making it an even dye job, and it looks like it was always meant to be there.

(Maybe it was.)

Jon leans into his side as he stands stock-still, catching his gaze through the mirror. "What do you think? We can probably change it when it washes out-"

"No- no, it's perfect."

Jon cuts himself off and turns, moving in front of Martin. He cups Martin's face in his hands, soft smile appearing on his face as he gazes at Martin. "You look beautiful."

Martin feels the tears blur his vision, and before he's really thought about it, he leans in.

Jon meets him in the middle.

Martin's thought about kissing Jon an embarrassing amount of times- from the first day they'd met, far before anything, when Archival Assistant was just his job and Jon was just a hopeless crush, but no amount of runaway thoughts or blush-filled poetry could prepare him for the real thing.

It wasn't a fairytale ending, or a perfect scene of a first kiss from a cheesy romcom- it was imperfect, and unpractised, and _they were kissing in a disgusting convenience store bathroom for g-d's sake _\- but it was _theirs _.____

_____ _

_____ _

And maybe that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> and then they lived happily ever after and nothing bad happens ever  
> yes i was listening to strawberry blond shut up  
> i took a week to write this cause i was super hyped over the idea of martin catharsis :')  
> It has come to my attention that as of mag 186, martin doesnt like oolong so :') I'll edit it sometime but in the meantime imagine him drinking chai or smth lmao  
> -juni
> 
> note: i borrowed somebody elses acc for this so uh ye  
> edit: i just realised the italics are gone so we'll see if this works lol


End file.
